


Her Worldly Delights

by Kylenne



Series: Kinktober 2020 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bisexual Female Character of Color, Black Female Character, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, F/M, Gisele Surana (OC), Haurchefant Greystone Lives, Kinktober 2020, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Polyamory, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Ysayle Dangoulain Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28686141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: The Qalyana tribe has summoned their goddess Lakshmi, their beloved Lady of Bliss, and Gisele is called to take the field once more, this time joined by Ysayle. But this is no ordinary battle against a Primal, even for the woman deemed Eikonslayer by Garlemald, and Eorzea fetes as Warrior of Light. Left reeling in the aftermath, Gisele is a healer in dire need of healing, and there is but one among the Scions who can aid her--for reasons of his own.
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Warrior of Light, Ysayle Dangoulain/Warrior of Light
Series: Kinktober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948408
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26





	Her Worldly Delights

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the Stormblood MSQ, is the direct sequel to Fearless Creatures (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048367), and references events in that fic.

Gisele gazed up at him, as Ananta torchlight bathed his tormented features in a cold, cerulean glow. 

“Go, my love. Leave this to us, and we shall make well our stand, I promise you.” 

Haurchefant’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed low, gauntleted hands curling into fists at Gisele’s exhortations. The line of tension within his jaw made plain how he wished to protest abandoning her with all his heart—were it not for his knight commander’s pragmatism telling him it was folly to stay, that this was one battle into which he could not follow, one battle where his shield arm would afford her no protection. And Gisele knew him too well, and by halves, not to mark with no small amount of guilt the turmoil upon his handsome face. But this was what it meant to love the woman all Eorzea exalted as the Warrior of Light. This was what it meant to love his sorceress, the woman so chosen by Hydaelyn long before she had ever been chosen by him, beyond breathless confessions and tender sentiment, however fervent it may well be: that there were some burdens he could not shoulder for or with her, even were he a Scion, and this they all told him well when he joined their number.

But Gisele did not think he truly understood what it meant, until that moment, within the bowels of the Qalyana sacred mount, bathed within that cerulean glow, some few yalms from a Primal. 

Primals cared not for sacred vows made unto the Fury.

At last, after a long moment, and grunting in frustration, Haurchefant nodded tersely to her. “Very well,” he said, and turned his furrowed gaze then to Ysayle. “Pray, watch over her, my friend--I beg of you,” he pleaded. 

Ysayle inclined her head in her customary solemn grace, her hand laid lightly upon the ornate grimoire strapped to her thick, leather belts. “This is why I became a Scion, my lord,” she said simply. 

Haurchefant’s expression softened at it, and he smiled. Mayhap it would be enough, Gisele thought in relief. “May you walk in the Light of the Crystal, and may the Fury and the good Saint Shiva keep you. Fight well, my ladies!”

He gave Gisele one last, quick grin of reassurance before turning to hasten from the cavern, leading Lyse and the twins back through the twisting passages to safety. 

And she remained, with Ysayle. 

“Are you ready, love?” she asked, staring at her intently. “This will not be as it was with Ravana.”

Ysayle nodded. “I know—but I do not fear. Come, let us be quick about it.”

Together they raced deeper into the torchlit caverns of Djanan Qhat, tracing the trail left by the Qalyana, until they entered a vast grotto, vaster still than any Gisele had ever seen, deep within the heart of the mountain—a temple of a surety, if Gisele had ever before seen one. The air was thick with the scent of the champa incense the Ananta so favored; sweet frangipani blended with rich, earthy sandalwood drifted from golden censers in soft, billowing clouds. Through swirling trails of smoke did Gisele spy the centerpiece of that temple: an enormous dais inlaid with incandescent mother of pearl and a queen’s ransom of gleaming gemstones, its heart an intricate lotus blossom wrought of gold which spoke of the singular skill and beauty of Ananta craftsmanship.

And floating with eerie preternatural grace above that gilded lotus, illumined by gentle waves of rosy aether shimmering as heat upon a summer’s day, the Lady of Bliss awaited them, draped in ethereal silks and crowned with gold. More beautiful even than Lakshmi’s flawless visage, however, was the Song of her aether: a song of carnal sensuality, reverberating deep within Gisele’s soul,  _ calling and calling _ to her, to the ever present hunger coiled within her. Gisele swallowed hard, bending her will upon the paling of the Echo, even as the Primal coaxed her to set it aside with a siren’s entreaties.

Then, Gisele felt Ysayle’s hand slip into her own, squeezing it hard, and remembered where she was, and what she must do.

A pair of Qalyana battlemaidens attended their Primal mistress, the curved blades of their scimitars bright and gleaming within serpentine hands, as they flanked her.

**_Decriers! Defilers!_ **

Lakshmi’s voice reverberated throughout the chamber, imperious and splendid in her fury, her golden eyes glittering hard as agates. Gisele stood firm before her, drawing strength from Ysayle’s steady presence at her side, breathing deep of sweet incense.

**_Who are you to wake them from the dream…?_ **

It was so sweet a promise; to know naught of pain, nor suffering, only endless rapture within the arms of the goddess. Mayhap even the most tempting of all Primal enticements, not least for those who known aught  _ but _ pain and suffering. But Gisele also knew that Lakshmi’s seductive dream came with too heavy a price; to the Qalyana she enthralled and the Vira she threatened to enslave, to the land she would bleed dry with a Primal’s insatiable hunger. She must be stopped, no matter the cost.

Gisele drew her rapier with a smooth, steady hand, raising her ruby focus aloft with an elegant flick of the other.

“We are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” she declared, her voice ringing throughout the chamber. Beside her, she felt Ysayle shift a little, cool and stoic, her Summoner’s grimoire in hand, a rock of silent strength at her back.

With a graceful sweep of her arm, Lakshmi set softly smoldering embers of palest blue aether to engulf her handmaidens.

**_A sliver of grace I bequeath to you..._ **

Thus empowered, hissing battle cries, they fell upon Gisele and Ysayle, brandishing their blades, but though they held the blessing of their goddess, they were no match for the battle-hardened sorceresses. Even as she effortlessly turned aside one curved blade with a well-timed riposte of her rapier and ran the Qalyana through, Gisele felt a rush of aether beside her, and a second, overhand strike was met with sparks and ringing clangs as steel clashed against steel; in a blinding flurry of strikes did the Egi-Ravana push her other assailant back, at last impaling her upon the longest of his swords. The second Qalyana crumbled to the bejeweled tile, serpentine eyes rolled back in her head and blood pouring from her mouth.

Nonplussed by the fall of her worshipers, Lakshmi bore down upon Gisele and Ysayle, drifting toward them with ethereal grace, her silks streaming behind her.

**_I shall free you from your hate!_ **

And so it began.

It was more dance than battle, as the smoky air shimmered with the resplendent glow of clashing magicks, Primal and Scions alike slinging spells through it, gliding across the temple floor. Lakshmi was no primordial warrior as were Ravana and Susano, but she fought with no less intensity, relentless in her conjurings. Her graceful arms called forth divine light again and again with the tenacity that only a primal could bring to bear, and Gisele and Ysayle were pressed no less fiercely than the last occasion they stood together against a beast-god. If Ysayle did not fight with the fury of Shiva at her disposal this time, neither did she waver in her prodigious command of the ancient Allagan arts, trailing burning lines of sacred geometry in the air to conjure malefic curses and drain the primal’s power by turns, all while guiding her egregore’s flashing blades with expert precision.

A shimmering, gilded lotus did Lakshmi conjure upon her, showering Ysayle with dangerously luminous aether, but Gisele was there just as quickly, trading rapier for star globe with an inrush of will, and swept a great circle with her arms to call down the might of the starry heavens. The whole of her body lifted from the smooth tile, and a great dome of light dazzled to shield them both; Lakshmi’s lotus dissipated in a burst and shimmered into nothingness upon contact. The air crackled with searing energy, dancing along Gisele’s skin, and she willed the blade back into her hand, resting focus to hilt as she drew upon her prodigious stores of aether, shooting twisting coils of flame to singe the silken hem of Lakshmi’s raiment.

But even as their deadly dance continued apace, the Primal’s aether washed over her like the softest velvet, and the dulcet song of seduction therein beckoned Gisele’s soul again and again, singing of the rapture that would only be hers should she yield her Mother’s protection and surrender. She stood firm, however, loosing aetheric wind to rend fine silks, firmly concentrating on the flows of magic within and without. And at last did Lakshmi drift gliding to the distant edge of the holy dais, as if in retreat, but Gisele knew better; her skin fair tingled at the sensation of scintillating aether building akin to a flood, swirling about the primal. She knew well what such a thing might portend.

“Ysayle, make ready!” Gisele cried out, bracing with her feet planted.

**_Partake of my life and my love..._ **

The lotus etched into the floor glowed, and the primal’s song rose to a crescendo, coiling about Gisele’s pointed ears.

Ysayle raced to Gisele’s side, gripping her grimoire tightly. “What is she about—?” she started, then froze.

And then Gisele watched, mouth agape, as Lakshmi swelled in size, blossoming with the fulcrum of her power into titanic proportions to fill the cavern; as she filled Gisele’s very senses with the heady, intoxicating scent of jasmine which clung to her, and her soft sighs, and the warmth of her eternal gaze. Her lips curved into a sensuous smile which reduced Gisele’s knees to quivering.

**_Rest your weary souls in my bosom..._ **

Lakshmi’s arms spread wide, and Gisele stepped forward, the spiraling hilt of her rapier slipping from her hand; she did not hear it strike the tile, only placing one sandaled foot in front of the other, entranced by the promise in her glittering eyes, the promise of those enormous lips, calling and  _ calling _ to her, singing to her very soul, and all the yearning therein.

**_Yes, my love…my grace…my beauty…my everything…is yours…_ **

The world itself stood still; all else faded as Gisele’s consciousness sank deeper and deeper into the florid haze which clouded her vision, for in that moment was there naught but Lakshmi’s smile, the floral musk of her scent, the softness of her sighs breathing warm caresses against Gisele’s skin, and that ever-present song echoing throughout the vaults of her spirit, reflecting all the yearning of her heart in perfect harmony. No Primal had ever touched the core of what Gisele was than the Lady of Bliss. No Primal had ever called to her so, like a siren singing to the insatiable fires smoldering within her. Was there ever so perfect a match for so wanton a hedonist?

**_This is what you were born to be…my dreamer of dreamers…_ **

Pleasure blossomed at the base of Gisele’s spine, coiling about her trembling flesh like a sinuous serpent, burning like fire in her racing blood, and she swayed upon unsteady feet, at last falling to her knees, helpless,  _ so helpless _ …for what was the Mother, before the Lover?

But, then, she felt long, slender arms wrap about her—not the goddess, no; mortal flesh, beloved, grounding, warm and strong.

With it, Gisele remembered the taste of mead upon her lips...sweeter still was the memory of salty nectar upon her tongue, lapped from between her lover’s thighs; the silken heat of her innermost core engulfing her slender fingers; the muffled sound of Gisele’s name moaned into her own swollen sex more alluring than any primalsong; their soft cries of pleasure vibrating against one another’s mounds.

And she remembered another dream, then, one shared in the passion of truest conviction, one for which altogether too much blood was shed, for which all too many had suffered grievously for far too long. A desperate leap from an airship, the drumbeat of wings, thus Gisele remembered too, slender hands which braced their darling boy, lending him strength when she had so little to give, the accursed eye pried at last from armor drowned in blood, Gisele’s beloved saved.

It was a dream fulfilled, altogether real and perilous and glorious.

And there was but one dreamer for whom Gisele Surana would lose herself, again and again, this loveliest of dreamers, embracing her tightly from behind, rooting her back into herself, reminding her what truly mattered, the true desire of her heart and her body by turns, smothering the false entreaties of the Primal in love and devotion.

Gisele remembered  _ Ysayle _ , and turned within the circle of her arms, clinging to her, parting her lips with her tongue even as Lakshmi drew them both to her, engulfing them in her light.

But so entwined in one another’s arms, Lakshmi’s cloying embrace was as nothing; the flood of aether ebbed, dissipating, and when they parted from one another, trembling, the Primal had returned to her customary shell.

And Lakshmi’s fury knew no bounds, thus denied, her shining eyes wild and burning with unadulterated hatred.

**_There is no place for you within our dream!_ **

“Nor you, in ours, fiend!” Ysayle shot back; with a deft heel, she kicked the hilt of Gisele’s discarded blade forward, and it skidded end over end to land against the black leather of Gisele’s boot. She took it back up, grinning brightly.

And with a wordless cry, Gisele charged forward, unleashing a flurry of precision sword strokes in a burst of aether, before pivoting upon a gracefully planted foot to vault backward, withdrawing  _ en displacement _ . When she leapt back, sailing end over end through the air, Ysayle brought her hand down sharply with a very familiar snap of her fingers, and Lakshmi writhed in agony, engulfed in a veritable storm of piercing ice, at last exploding in a burst of shimmering petals that soon fluttered into nothingness.

Left by their lonesome in the twinkling aftermath, Gisele and Ysayle stared at one another a long moment, panting from exertion, and exchanged weary smiles.

“And you were worried?” Ysayle chuckled softly, with a snort.

* * *

In the end, Gisele and her comrades took their leave of Djanan Qhat, leaving the Qalyana broodmother to her unspeakable grief within the sacred mount. But as the adrenaline rush of battle faded, Gisele was only scarce aware of her own footsteps, one after the other upon the dusty earth; only the steady fluttering of her heart within her breast, and the heaviness of her breath. Her dark skin was flushed, and not from the burning of the punishing Gyr Abanian sun, but searing from deep within.

Some small words were exchanged, back at the Vira village, many thanks given for their salvation with words and gifts of exquisitely wrought golden treasures, but these too seemed somewhat distant to Gisele, lost in such a haze as she was. Her eyes drifted to where Ysayle stood a short distance away, her flushed skin still glistening from the exertion of battle. Gisele’s gaze traced the line of her sapphire blue chiton, noting the linen bandeau which strained to hold the ample curve of her breast; visions danced within Gisele’s mind of pursing her lips upon it and suckling until it grew hard upon her flickering tongue. And her mouth grew dry, as she noted it already was, round and pert. Her thighs squeezed together all unbidden against the sudden pulse of desire between them; their eyes met, and Ysayle’s were positively smoldering, her lids heavy, her lips parted.

“Gisele?”

It was Haurchefant’s voice, soft and questioning, which pierced through the fog which settled over her mind; and yet, when Gisele felt his calloused hand touch her leather-draped shoulder, the lightest of pressure sent electric jolts of pleasure shooting through her body, and she bit back a moan, her eyes grown wide in utter mortification. Her body was taut like a bowstring, as never before, not even in her most fevered moments, and she leaned into him, unable to still the tremor in limbs which had grown far too heavy. 

He blinked hard, narrowing his eyes. “Are you quite well, love?” he asked, and Gisele was mesmerized by the curve of his mouth, tearing her eyes from it only to hungrily drift her gaze across the chiseled arms which reached for her, down to the thick bulge in his leather trousers. Her hands twitched and trembled and she clamped her eyes shut hard, trying desperately to remember that she was in a village full of the Resistance’s Ananta allies, that she could not pull her husband to the dusty ground and—

Somewhere in the distance, Gisele heard Alisaie cry out in alarm. “What’s wrong with them? They’re both protected by the Echo, yet they’re behaving as though they’ve been tempered!”

“Sarisha said something like this could happen, remember?” Lyse said, a crimson flush spreading upon her cheeks. “Sometimes, when people fight Lakshmi, they…”

Lyse’s words faded as Gisele’s haze-choked gaze fell upon her, marveling at her chiseled abdomen, drinking in her well-toned physique with hungry eyes tracing their way down; the scarlet leather shorts she wore hugged her powerful thighs quite nicely, and she idly wondered if the button might be thin enough for Gisele to undo with her teeth, mayhap to slip a slender hand inside...

Gisele froze in mid salacious thought, and swallowed hard, pulling her eyes away.

“Forgive me,” she muttered, and it was mayhap a testament to the discipline with which she practiced her Arts that Gisele was still able, even in such a state, to call upon the flows of aether within and without, fixating her mind upon the shimmering cerulean stone towering over the desert, and was swept away upon them.

Mere moments later, she stumbled into the Waking Sands. 

Better there than her rooms at the Stones, bustling with activity as the newer command post fared. And she would have fled to Ishgard, to let the chill of Coerthas cool her fiery blood, but feared what might happen should either of Haurchefant’s brothers discover her—or, heavens forfend, Lord Edmont. Nay; better to lock herself away at the ever-deserted Sands, which were kept in serene stillness only by Urianger.

At the thought of him, Gisele was beset by sudden visions of tearing open his drab Archon’s robes, pushing him back against the library shelves, and sinking to her knees before him with an eager and pliant mouth, his eloquence stolen for once as she pleased him with her own silver tongue. She had known such forbidden pleasures well and often in the Circle, and she whimpered with a pleasant little shudder, against the fresh waves of need pulsing between her thighs when her delirious imagination inserted Urianger into those memories of illicit trysts: shoving her into the dark, lacquered shelves and lifting her apprentice’s robes, whispering depravities into her pointed ear as he rode her hard, and she bit down hard against his shoulder to stifle her moans of ecstasy, that her pleasure not alert the templars. 

It took a nigh-herculean effort to firmly turn her mind from such thoughts; she nearly laughed in abject despair at her sorry state, fearing she may well have leapt from the cookpot into the flames, all unwitting. Mayhap it was no better seeking sanctuary here. What respite  _ was _ there from this insatiable fever burning inside her, within her very blood?

And she cursed herself, even as she pointedly avoided the library and virtually fled down the dimly lit corridor to the inner court dormitory and her seldom-used chambers there, then shut the door behind her, lighting the candles with a whispered incantation and gentle breath of aether. For a moment, her first thought was only to seek blessed release—mayhap to draw a steaming bath with oils, and luxuriate within, perhaps with one of the  _ aides d’amour _ she still kept locked within a chest there. 

Mayhap it was far too simple a solution to her dilemma; Gisele feared this hunger which consumed her so thoroughly would not be sated so easily. Still, it was all she had at the moment by way of a plan, and perhaps it would grant her some brief measure of respite from her torrid thoughts, enough to think more clearly. 

The bathing chamber lay deeper within the suite, and was small, but well appointed, with succulents in a rainbow of muted colors perfectly maintained, wax tapers and all manner of oils and unguents upon the shelves. While a nook held a small, cushioned bench replete with tasseled pillows in jewel tones, the bath itself dominated the enclosed space—a personal gift from Nanamo, in gratitude for Gisele's critical role in the success of Operation Archon, and one fit for a Sultana. Carved of exquisite sandstone and earthy marble in the Ul'dahn style, it was rather ornate even as Ul'dahn baths went, with tiered steps leading up to the large, octagonal basin, and tiered seating within to accommodate varied heights and preferences for bathing—from shallow lounging to the deepest of soaks. Delicate brass censers were spaced around the rim for the burning of incense. Gisele lit the tall candelabra with a breathless cantrip, and slid her hand along the smooth, cool stone along the wide rim to find the hidden push switch flush with it, which set heated water to flowing and churning in gentle waves, and gentle tufts of sweet and sultry jasmine drifting through the air, all with a single firm press.

As the tub filled, Gisele gathered her customary accoutrements—glass jars and small decanters filled with floral oils and rosewater tinctures distilled by her own alchemist's skill, pouring them one by one to bloom within the steaming water, filling the air with heady fragrance when mingled with the jasmine incense. She turned then to the tall, narrow mirror in the furthest corner, to unbuckle the leather straps of her dress, letting it drop to the heated tiles in a pool of heavy fabric about her slender ankles; thus stripped to her lacy black unmentionables, Gisele shifted a bit, gazing at her voluptuous reflection as she so often did. Her dark skin of warm, bronzed ochre was flush with desire—it seemed the preternatural fever which seized the whole of her body was writ upon her very flesh, with tiny beads of sweat glistening upon her arms, as though she were stumbling through the sands of the deep desert. Gisele stared a long moment, before hoisting her thick wealth of long, silvery curls high upon her head, tying them in a hasty lover’s knot. She found then her short robe of dusty rose silk, hung neatly in the same corner, and slipped the cool fabric against her skin, for it would be a long moment as yet before the tub was filled to her liking, and there was somewhat else she would retrieve before sinking inside.

Thus she returned to the sitting room for a moment, for she recalled a particular leather-bound tome filled with the centuries-old writings of a one-time Sharlayan scholar tempered by Lakshmi. Ysayle had found it at the Stones, when last she and Gisele had searched the combined archives of the Scions for any lore which might aid them in their fight against the Primal. Gisele prayed she might find an extant copy of the tome there at the Sands; though she had not upon her previous inquiry, she had neglected to search the shelves within her own chamber, only the library. Perhaps the answer she needed once again lay within those salacious pages, she thought, desperately scouring the shelves for any sign of the volume. It may well be her only hope.

But she was startled in the midst of her search by a light rapping on the door, and swore some colorful Ishgardian oath under her breath. Of all the times to be disturbed...Gisele sighed, shaking her head. There could be only one visitor to be received, here in the desolate Sands, and for once she did not relish the prospect, given her state of duress. Tendrils of fear choked like vines about her heart, in spite of the insistent pangs of desire, for she greatly feared what she might say or do in his presence. And so Gisele closed her eyes, inhaling deep into her belly and exhaling yet longer, several times over, even as she willed her racing heart to settle, before opening the door.

To her great consternation, Urianger indeed stood upon the other side of it, bearing with him a ewer filled with ice water, and a grave expression upon sober features—shrouded as always by his deep linen cowl, and ruby-lensed leather goggles.

“Fair evening, my Lady Fortemps,” Urianger said, with a cordial—if guarded—smile, and a hint of pink color upon his cheeks. “Tis most fortunate indeed that I hath the great privilege to see thy lovely face gracing these halls once more; it has been far too long. Pray, forgive me for disturbing thy meditations upon this late hour, twas not my intent to intrude upon thee, in thy state of...undress.”

Gisele froze, her heart pounding in her ears, her lips parting unbidden at the sight of her old friend. All sense of eloquence had long fled from her, and she struggled to find any words at all. “We bested Lakshmi, Ysayle and I. But I...we have been...afflicted,” was all she managed, transfixed as she was upon Urianger’s slender fingers curled about the handle of the ewer, slightly damp from condensation. She bit her lip against silent, idle musings of what those smooth, cool fingers might feel like inside her. 

“I know,” Urianger said softly. “Lord Haurchefant hath revealed to me the nature of thine affliction by linkpearl some few moments ago.”

Gisele blinked hard, tearing her eyes from Urianger’s strong hands, to trace with the length of his elegant neck, to the hollow of his throat, peeking above the frog of his cloak. Her mind drifted with her ravenous gaze, contemplating how his skin might feel beneath her lips, how it might taste upon her tongue, suckling and biting it. Would it be somewhat to unravel his tight control, she wondered?

And she closed her eyes then, curling her trembling hands into fists, shuddering a long moment. 

“Then you must know that I do not trust myself,” Gisele said, and she could feel the desire choking her own voice; never before had she been so sick with it, and never had she felt such shame at it, to so think of her friends this way. She had long teased him, with her customary coy flirtations, idly musing aloud what lay beneath his robes. But this was somewhat else entirely, somewhat...lurid, even distasteful, the way this affliction so turned him into mere flesh for the taking, before her lustful gaze. And she felt...

“I know,” Urianger said softly, once more; his voice was so tender with compassion that Gisele could hardly bear it. “That is precisely the reason I hath called upon thee this night, in truth. I would offer what knowledge I might bring to bear in this matter for the sake of thine aid, my lady.”

Gisele swallowed hard. There was perhaps none other amongst the Scions possessed of such depth of knowledge regarding aetherial matters as Urianger, save Y’shtola. And not even  _ she _ possessed the chronicler’s nigh-encyclopedic familiarity with Primal lore. If any could aid her, it was him. Urianger would surely know what to do.

It was this sober reasoning to which she clung tightly, as she beckoned him wordlessly into her chambers, averting her eyes from him all the while. He drifted past her deeper into the sitting room, setting her blood aflame at the merest inconsequential brushing of his linen-clad arm against her silk-sheathed skin. Gisele winced, sucking air through her teeth, and forced herself to take a deep—if hitched—breath before she followed him, and she deliberately kept her distance, when he went to the small side table next to the divan and set the ewer down upon it. 

“Lyse hath conferred with the Vira elder at length, on the matter of thy malady,” Urianger said, calmly pouring a pair of crystalline glasses, ice tinkling hollow when it fell within them, before taking a seat. “Tis a consequence of how the Qalyana view the Lady of Bliss, it would seem. The Vira do not ascribe to her such wanton carnality, as do their acrimonious sisters. But  _ The Thousand and One Delights of Djanan Qhat _ doth reveal at length the worldly pleasures of the flesh afforded to those in her thrall, how they fair drown in the lust she doth evoke. And t’would also seem that never before hath Elder Sarisha known Lakshmi’s victims to resist her boon charms, as did thee and thine this day. Mayhap the Echo hath spared thee the ignoble yoke of tempering, but thy wards availed thee not against the smoldering passions Lakshmi doth spark within her blessèd Dreamers.”

Gisele gladly accepted the water, and took a long drink; it was cold and soothing to her parched throat, and did much to steady her. His words seemed clearer then, and his conjecture made a great deal of sense. “I see...you may well be correct in your assessment, for I cannot gainsay your reasoning. And if  _ I _ am, then is…?” she asked, thinking back to Ysayle’s flushed skin, the heaviness of her breath, the curve of her breast straining against the linen bandeau, with its hardened nipple. She bit her lip, even as she was struck with a pang of guilt—for taking such pleasure in her lover’s torment, of a surety, but also for abandoning her to her own distress.

“Indeed. Mistress Y’shtola doth presently attend Mistress Dangoulain at Rhalgr’s Reach, for she hath suffered the selfsame curse as thee.”

Exhaling a deep, ragged sigh, Gisele shut her eyes a moment, taking a second drink of cool, crisp water, though somewhat in her relaxed at Urianger’s words, for Ysayle would be in no better care than that of Shtola, she thought.

“I cannot—we cannot continue this way, Urianger, Ysayle and I. And I cannot believe this unnatural desire so simple a trifle to sate, even for one so well-versed in such pursuits as I.”

Urianger pursed his lips, furrowing his brow deep in thought, and Gisele needed another long drink of cold water at the sight of his mouth, upon which she refilled her glass from the ewer. But after a brief moment, he reached up to his hood, removing his goggles only to replace them with the copper aetherometer ever-present upon the crown of his head. “If I may...” he murmured, a light flush of crimson rising up his neck to bloom pink upon his sculpted cheeks. 

Gisele nodded, and stood still; try as she might to think of it as akin to a simple chirurgeon’s examination, clinical and devoid of ulterior intent, her heart nonetheless pounded within her ears, as Urianger’s instrument-enhanced eyes slowly drifted up and down the length of her trembling body. He circled her, boring into her with a penetrating gaze that felt as if he were unraveling her with his very eyes, stripping her bare as her nameday for his exacting scrutiny.

It had always thrilled her like little else, the sensation of being watched; such thrill was only intensified in her heightened state of arousal, and her body awakened with it, moving seemingly of its own volition, and she found herself squirming under the weight of that piercing stare. She shifted from one heel to the other, lightly jutting the sensuous curve of her hip just so, idly resting a hand upon her thick and shapely rear, for she was deeply aware of the perilously short hemline of her robe. Her other hand drifted idly down her décolletage to idly toy with the folded opening of the garment, dipping the shortest of her lacquered fingernails between the silk folds, to reveal a mere hint of lush, brown cleavage.

“What do you see, Uri?” Gisele asked, rather coyly. "Does it please you?” 

Urianger visibly swallowed hard, his lightly tanned cheeks turned a deeper shade of scarlet, and he coughed a little, clearing his throat, before taking a long drink from his neglected glass of ice water. He lifted the Sharlayan device back above his brow, replacing it with his goggles with a distinct quickness.

“Tis as I hath gravely suspected, my lady: the crux of the quandary seemeth no mere physical distress—this is no simple malady of the flesh. Thy very aether hath been tainted. Through Sharlayan ingenuity hath I spied it well with mine own sight...the rosy hue coiled about it in the manner of a serpent, blooming as a flower from the seat of thy maidenhood—the lotus root, as deemed by the sorcerers of Radz-at-Han; tis the seat of pleasure and of aether by turns, in their tradition.”

Then it was as she feared, Gisele mused silently, with a frown; she took another sip of water, then. “So...I cannot sate it by my lonesome,” she deduced softly, a mere whisper. 

Urianger shook his head. “Nay, my lady. I fear thy tainted aether would only feed thine ailment, as kindling to a conflagration, in an endless ouroboros. Thou wouldst, of a surety, merely renew it, were thou to...seek respite...by thine own hands—or those of Mistress Dangoulain, so similarly afflicted.”

Mayhap it was the cold water, but Gisele’s mind was turning rather like itself again, and she suddenly knew what Urianger was about, why he had called upon her then. Like Gisele, Urianger was a healer, after all. 

“But, if one who was  _ not _ thusly afflicted might pleasure one who was...” Gisele postulated, raising her silvery brows. 

“Thy mind be as sharp as ever, my lady, despite thine...indisposition,” Urianger said, brightening a little, his lips curving into a cheeky little smile that made Gisele's knees grow weak. “The beset aether should, of a moment, be starved, thus to wither upon the vine, to be replenished in time by that which is natural. Tis merely conjecture, however, I should be clear—a hypothesis formed in deepest sincerity, by my wealth of knowledge and brief conference with Mistress Y’shtola, I assure thee, but conjecture nonetheless.” 

“Ah…but you place a great deal of confidence in what you deem a Sharlayan academic's conjecture, Uri. Enough to come visit me in my chamber, alone, in the dark of night."

Urianger did not answer her, not for an interminably long moment which he largely spent with his golden eyes lowered, his brows furrowed deep in thought. What turned so in that clever mind of his, Gisele wondered, as she awaited the eloquence of his archaic speech once more, and stared mesmerized at the subtle tremor of his lower lip. All trace of gentle impishness was gone from his visage, replaced by somewhat else. It was difficult to say what with, and would have been even had Gisele's mind not been consumed by a ravenous hunger so unnatural even for her, who proudly named herself an ethical hedonist. Urianger was ever cloaked in enigmas, ever holding his proverbial cards tightly to his chest, and it was no different then, in that moment.

Until he raised those golden eyes, and spoke low and soft.

“No hypothesis, however rigorously conceived, might stand untested. Thus I would put mine own to the proof, an it please thee."

Gisele froze a moment, struck dumb by the implication of his words. It was one matter to guess at his intentions; quite another to hear it all but confirmed from his own delectable lips...

_ Urianger wanted to fuck her.  _

She swallowed hard, before downing the contents of her glass in their entirety, and so quickly her skull was seized in the painful grip of sudden frost. It did little to quench the bonfire raging through her loins, as the salacious thoughts of him ravishing her in the library returned in full force. With one phrase, did he stoke the conflagration anew, the whole of her body aching in her need. Gisele took several long and deep breaths to steady herself, remembering at last the Doman manner Hien taught her, before she trusted herself to speak.

“Do not think me ungrateful, Uri. But I would dare not ask such a thing of you,” Gisele said softly, and with great care, but even she could hear the tremor in her own voice, and was ashamed of it.

“Thou needst not beseech me as such, my lady,” Urianger said. “I am  _ offering _ such aid as is needful, to one of mine own dearest comrades.”

“We both know Haurche would be far more appropriate, and the Fury only knows how eager he would be—”

“With due respect, my lady, Lord Haurchefant doth take his rest at present across the length of the continent. Yet I am here, now, in thy bedchamber.” Urianger paused then, frowning a little. “Unless thou dost regard me ill-favored, or displeasing? Pray, forgive me mine boldness, my lady. Mayhap I am overeager, in mine haste to aid thee…all too well aware am I that I have done little to merit thy trust, in light of mine previous subterfuge—”

“No!” Gisele said sharply, gasping in alarm. Her hands were suddenly shaking at her sides, and she wrapped her arms about herself. “Not by any means. Oh, Uri! I could never find you displeasing, even were I not so drowning in desire, for I have always found you exceedingly handsome. And I trust you, with my very life, no matter your past subterfuge. I know you would not dissemble in such a matter as this. I simply...I would not... _ use _ you, in such a manner. You are far too dear to me to regard as a mere warm and motile  _ aide d’amour _ . Let my amorous husband, for whom such pleasures are wanton and desired, grant me the release I require. I would not burden you with this.”

In the haze of what they’d both deemed an affliction, it was all too simple for Gisele to believe that desire clouded her perception, but it was unmistakable all the same, the tremor in Urianger’s hands when they rose up to his shrouded eyes to remove his goggles, placing them upon the side table. As was the gleam in his pale, golden eyes when they fell upon Gisele, with an enigmatic smile curved upon the sensuous fullness of his lips.

“Tis never a burden to aid mine beloved comrades, wheresoever I am able. Mayhap thou hast, in thy distress most precarious, forgotten that I have made the study of the flows of aether my life’s work—as much as the vagaries of fate and the enigmatic stirrings of prophets and seers. And never before, in all the long years in which I hath studied these matters, have I seen such a phenomenon as that which hath befallen thee and Mistress Dangoulain so grievously at the hands of Lakshmi. Opportunity such as this doth not often make itself known, and I do not think I would ever forgive myself if I should let one such slip through mine hands, as it were,” Urianger said, a bit impishly.

Gisele’s heart sank into her chest, strangely feeling heavy like lead within her at his words, and for reasons quite beyond her ken. “Is that what you’re about, then?” she asked, her lower lip trembling. “Am I naught a riddle to be deciphered by you, my dear Archon?”

“…dost thou in truth believeth me so austere, Gisele?” Urianger lowered his hand, to rest upon his heart, sighing deeply. “Nay...I hath, of a surety, a myriad other reasons...”

He lowered his cowl at last, then, running his twitching fingers through silky, thick strands of silvery locks. “Forgive me, if I am too bold, but thou hast abjured me against dissembling. Of a surety I hath...desires of mine own, dearest lady, where thou art concerned. No burden would it be to quench thy smoldering, Primal-sparked fires; would that thou, of a surety, fairly knew the absurdity of ever believing it a burden to lie with thee. For thou art the most comely maiden upon which I hath ever gazed...a maiden whose nigh preternatural beauty is matched only by the keen sharpness of her intellect, the prodigious ease in which she doth practice myriad sorcerous arts—and the boundless warmth of her heart, which hath ever bled for lands not her own, and those that dwell therein.”

“Uri...” Gisele breathed, startled by his confession. In truth, she was no green lass, untried in the ways of seduction and desire—she knew when men wanted her, for most of them who craved the touch of women did. And she relished in teasing, in flirtations, always. But she had not, in truth, realized the depths of Urianger's yearning until this very moment, and she feared it may have been the fever clouding her senses, making her hear only that which was pleasing to her own ear. Surely his passions could not have run so deep, and for so long...could they?

But he lifted his gaze to her then, pale and golden, gentle and tender, with the softest of smiles upon his lips. “Long have I felt the sharpest, keenest of yearning for thee, gentle lady. And not merely for the lushness of thy voluptuous physique, surely formed by Menphina Herself—though I shall not deny I have hungered to know its supple pleasures. But I vow with all gravity, upon the Twelve and the memory of my beloved Master Leveilleur: tis naught less than the greatest affection which hath spurred me to avail myself to thee thus, not merely an Archon's curiosity, nor the lustful stirrings of a lonely scholar.”

“I did not...oh, Uri. Forgive me, for I did not know,” Gisele whispered, raising a hand to her mouth.

Urianger rose from the divan, taking her hand gently into his own, before sinking upon his knees before her. The firm sensation of his fingers gripping her lightly was enough to set Gisele aflame once more; the sight of him upon his knees nearly unraveled her. His lips were achingly soft and slick when he pressed them lightly into the back of her hand; he left the faint imprint of translucent balm upon her dark skin.

“Permit me to sate thy great and ravenous hunger,” Urianger said with a tremor in his low, soft voice, while gazing up at her with burning eyes. “I implore thee, my dearest lady, do not make me beg.”

Gisele smirked, drawing her other hand to Urianger's hair, raking her fingers through his thick, silky strands of silver. She would never have imagined him to be quite so libertine, though she should not have been so surprised; mages were quite the same, she supposed, no matter the world. “But you look  _ so _ gorgeous upon your knees, darling Uri. And so very tempting. I think I should like to hear you beg, with that honeyed tongue of yours,” she purred.

She curled his fingers within the crown of his lovely hair, and gripped a handful of silvery locks within her fist; when she did, Urianger's breath visibly hitched within his throat, his long lashes set to a mild flutter, and she bit her lip against the delighted whimper which threatened at the sight of his obvious pleasure. By the Fury but he was beautiful, so naked in his yearning, and Gisele longed to make him lose himself entirely.

“I beg of thee, my lady,” Urianger said, his voice caressing her skin like soft velvet. "I would seek to quench the smoldering conflagration within thee, with all that I am.”

“And how might you, love?”

“However it might please thee, my heart. Be it by eager tongue or unyielding phallus, by mine ravenous lips or worshipful fingers, shall I wring every onze of pleasure from thy glorious body, until thine aether be restored.”

Gisele made a great show of contemplating his words, pursing her full and pouting lips in thought, even as such words renewed the very flames of which he spoke. At last, she released her grip upon his hair, stroking it as one might a cat.

“I should like that very much," she said, with a coy smile. “Very well, I shall place myself in your expert hands...among other things. I was drawing myself a bath, when you arrived. Shall we enjoy it, then, together?”

Urianger rose to his feet, with one last kiss of her hand, and grinned rather wickedly—from ear to pointed ear—but did not release her, instead drawing her with him to the bathing chamber, and shutting the door behind them. It was a veritable sauna by then, the mirror glass engulfed by steam, and Gisele’s senses were filled with the scent of rose and jasmine, and the Hannish champa incense. The bath had long since filled, of course, but was never in danger of spilling due to the ingeniousness of its design; instead, the fragrant water circulated endlessly, renewing the warmth of the bath with gently roiling waves. 

And it was bathed in the ethereal, golden glow of the candlelight that Urianger drew her to the small loveseat. "Might I disrobe thee, my lady?" he asked, ever the gentleman. Gisele smiled radiantly at him, her heart soaring even as her body ached for his touch.

“As you please," Gisele replied softly, with a demure lowering of her thick lashes. Urianger returned her smile with a rather wolfish one of his one, reaching down for the silken cord which held her robe together. He untied it carefully, with mildly trembling hands, and gingerly drew back the silk to reveal her slender shoulders, and her lingerie, letting the garment fall to the heated tiles. She whimpered softly in anticipation when he leaned in close, and reached behind her back, to unhook her brassiere of intricate black lace, and sighed in content, her shoulders relaxing once the ample fullness of her bosom was freed of the restrictive garment. Urianger gingerly slipped it off her, letting it fall to the floor with her robe, and eyes grew a bit wide, once she was laid bare to him, in awe and wonder. 

"I fear thy perfection might set me to weeping. Thou art as yet lovelier than all mine most fevered imaginings,” Urianger breathed. She shuddered, taut as a harp-string, at the light caress of his hands across and her shoulders, her décolletage, drifting about her hypersensitive skin. His eyes were curious, as he drew exploratory circles along her breasts with his mere fingertips, and she found herself unconsciously arching her back, leaning into his touch. There, he lingered a long while upon the largeness of her areola, dark as the night sky, lightly stroking circles on the golden hoops which rested upon them, pierced through her hardened nipples; he rubbed the singular ruby upon each hoop with his thumbs, pressing the beads against her aching flesh, and she gasped. “That thy bosom should be so brilliantly adorned in gold and jewels...tis fitting, methinks,” he marveled softly.

“Tis the fashion among the pillowhouses of Ul’dah,” Gisele said, her breath faltering a little. “The courtesans believe adorning their bodies as such is pleasing in the eyes of Nald’Thal, for gilding their bodies shall attract more gil to their coffers. Like attracts like.”

Urianger’s fingertips were so soft, so warm against her nipples. He was toying then with them, rubbing his thumbs across the tops, teasing the gold hoops as he did. “If thou might forgive me some small manner of hubris, my lady…tis pleasing to mine eyes, as well.”

“Keep touching me this way, and I shall forgive you any—” Gisele started, gasping in mid sentence when he brought his thumb and forefinger to pinch her nipples by turns, rubbing the stiff tips firmly.

“I would visit all manner of delights upon thy flesh, my lady. But this enchanted eve belongeth to thee. I shalt do aught thou wouldst desire, and more,” Urianger said. “How dost thou takest thy pleasure, in the main?”

It was proving a trial to form her thoughts, with Urianger’s skilled hands lifting her breasts to squeeze them, groping her curves firm and gentle by turns, kneading her tender flesh...Gisele could not help but sigh softly at it, how the cauldron of her desire roiled hot and churning between her thighs.

“In surrender,” Gisele whispered, her breath growing more ragged by the moment.

Urianger smiled, nodding as his hands drifted down the soft musculature of her belly, finding there the golden barb which pierced it; this, too, he idly fingered, a single fingertip swirling about the tiny orb which crowned it. “Lord Haurchefant divulged as much, in our conference...as he divulged that thine appetites betimes hunger for the sharpness of spice, as much as sweets.”

“Did he, then?” Gisele asked, with hitched breath. It was the most delicious agony, his hands upon her this way, tantalizingly gentle, almost teasing.

"Yes," Urianger said, tracing his fingers yet lower, his soft hands drifting around her narrow waist, sliding down over her curves to rest upon her generous hips. "Gisele...do not doubt that I only wish to please thee, this night—and well. Such was the reason for mine inquiry. So shall I make it of thee, in kind, for I wouldst perish to bring thee to harm or discomfit. Hast thou a word of succor, that might halt my ministrations upon thee, should they prove distressing to bear?”

Gisele nodded softly, smiling and moved by his kindness. “Mythal.”

“Mythal,” Urianger echoed with a slow nod, as if committing it to memory. “Very well. But speak it thusly, and I shalt cease.”

“And yours, love?”

“Gardenia.”

That it should be so lovely was no surprise to her, but Gisele suppressed a light giggle then, minded of Aymeric’s own such word…it seemed she was fated to love men who ever found refuge within the garden.

Urianger leaned forward, gently massaging her waist. “What wouldst thou have of me, now?” he asked.

“I would return the favor, my love. I wish to see you, in all your glory,” Gisele purred. “And I desire to hear of these delights you would visit upon me, as I do.”

"Very well. Do as thou wilt." Urianger smiled, and withdrew from Gisele only enough to permit her room to draw her hands up between them. They were trembling with desire, her curiosity alight...how often had she teased him thus, playfully wondering aloud what lay beneath those ever present robes? Never did she think she might very well have the chance to find out, in truth.

As it turned out, on that particular evening, what lay beneath those drab Archon's robes was naught but surprisingly chiseled flesh, for Urianger was bare as his nameday under the white and black linen, when Gisele unhooked the frog of his cloak, and unbuckled the soft leather belt about his robes, easing the fabric from his broad shoulders to pull it downward. Chiseled indeed he was, finely sculpted from broad shoulders to thick calves as if from marble—uncannily similar to Haurchefant's physique, in truth, which shocked her as an understatement. For she would never have guessed in her wildest, most torrid fantasies that Urianger would be built like a knight, and not the academic and student of prophecy, forever with his nose buried in tomes, like her.

Gisele's hungry gaze traced the treasure trail of fine, silvery hair upon his lower belly, her eyes unable to tear away from his cock, for it was enormous, thick and engorged with his obvious pleasure.

"Dear gods," she could not help but marvel aloud, a bit breathlessly, squeezing her thighs together yet again against the fresh wave of need which roiled between them, as she imagined him thrusting inside her. Urianger grinned in reply, lowering his eyes a bit bashfully.

"There is a popular school of thought, in distant Sharlayan, that those who practice the sorcerous arts shouldst ever strive toward a well-rounded existence, honing well our bodies in tandem with our minds. Our late master Louisoix held fast to this belief, and in keeping with his philosophy, physical training hath been a cornerstone of mine study from the most tender years of mine youth—as much as aetherology, or the study of prophecy,” he said, by way of explanation.

Gisele reached out to him, hands trembling with yearning as they mirrored his earlier movements, fondling his pectorals, stroking his nipples—stiff and pink—exploring his rock-hard body. He reminded her much of the figures found in the licentious works of ancient Tevinter she devoured in her misspent youth, the oiled and well-muscled Desire Demons which ravished maidens and their masters alike. How often had she skulked about the forbidden sections of Kinloch Hold’s vast library in the dark of night, long after turndown, and stolen those tomes—and with them, pleasures of the taboo? Of a surety, she believed they were why she found such physiques alluring in the main.

“And glad am I for your dedicated adherence to such philosophy,” she purred. Gisele splayed her hand across his rippling abdomen, and it drifted low, caressing the trail of hair, soft as down, until she curved her hand beneath him and cupped his sack. With her other hand, she curled slender fingers about his shaft—oh but he was so hot to the touch, so full of desire. She stroked him idly, smiling lasciviously up at him as she did. “But your natural endowments are also impressive…tell me, Uri, do you always wear nothing under your robes? Or was this just for me?”

His eyes grew heavy, and a most delicious groan escaped his lips, his breath hitching a little. “Only for thee, my lady,” he breathed. “This night belongs to thee, and thee alone. I would ring every onze of pleasure from thy yielding flesh, til thou art surely spent.”

"Kiss me," Gisele whispered.

With some urgency did Urianger wrap his well-chiseled arms around Gisele, pulling her tightly against him, and he bent down to part the fullness of her lips with a hot and eager tongue, fair plunging down her throat. Forced to release him from her grip, Gisele clung tightly to his well honed rear, moaning into his mouth; his lips were perishingly soft, as any woman’s she’d ever kissed, and worshipped her own with skill and hunger in equal measure. Their tongues met, lashing hot and hard against one another, darting to and fro for an age before he pulled away for air, catching her lower lip between his teeth before resuming his heated dance inside her mouth. As he did, he dragged his hands down her back, sliding them down the back of her silken pantalettes, reaching inside to squeeze her plump cheeks with gusto, kneading them firmly in his grip even as he devoured her lips and tongue.

It was as though a dam burst within her, the last remnants of self-control shattered with hot sparks of aether blooming at the base of her spine, blossoming like a flower, beckoning him in indescribable yearning. Never had Gisele hungered like this before; never had she needed release like this before. She tore her mouth from his, near mad from lust, and drew her tongue hard across the oxblood marque upon his cheek, tasting the salt of his sweat upon it. 

“ _ Please, Uri, _ ” she whimpered, mewling desperately against his immaculately trimmed beard of silver.  _ “I beg of you…” _

Urianger drew up for air once more. “I could never deny thee, sweet sorceress,” he said, withdrawing his hands from her pantalettes, only to draw them across her curvaceous hips, kneading her dark skin. “Thy gentle pleas are indeed as the sweetest of songs to mine ears…”

A single hand slipped down the front of the ebon silk, and so sheathed, did he gasp a moment, his eyes widened a little. “Of a surety, thou art sodden beyond measure in thy need,” Urianger murmured with quiet awe. “Dost thou crave my merciful touch so desperately?”

Gisele’s answering plea was wordless, incoherent, and she breathed in a sharp gasp of her own when she felt a single finger curl down to part her slick nether lips, feathering her inner folds with a curious stroke. When the edge of his fingertip found the diminutive golden hoop which pierced the hood, he stopped a moment with an awed little rumble, regarding the ring with a curious swirl along the thin, pleasure slick metal. 

“Ah…” Urianger purred, with a sensual smile. “That even thy maidenhood should be so adorned...thou art truly a work of art.” 

Gisele made another little gasp, as he slid his fingertip between the pierced folds, and found her inner pearl, swollen and slick with her yearning. It was a maddeningly teasing stroke, ghosting across it with the faintest hint of pressure, and she whimpered softly, clamping down upon her thick lower lip. 

“Uri,  _ please _ ,” Gisele moaned, her hips rising up of their own volition, the whole of her body aching for his touch. 

Urianger answered her desperate plea with the tenderest mercy, probing her sensitive inner folds with swift, gentle strokes, swirling his fingertip against her entrance, up and down the length of her inner folds, and he drew his finger up against the tiny, captive bead upon the ring, pressing it against her swollen pearl, and a keening little sigh escaped her lips. 

His hand stretched the black silk, writhing against it, as his longest finger deftly pierced her inner heat with languid, tender thrusts, caressing her inner walls. And Gisele could not help but thrust her hips up in time to his rhythm; he hunched down, hungrily suckling the elegant line of her neck, while he rubbed firm circles upon her pearl, the bead of her jewelry rubbing against it with each stroke, heightening the heady sensation. After a moment, he slipped a second finger within her, and for a blissful age his fingers thrust in and out of her, massaging her clit with his thumb...gods but his touch was so skilled, so graceful, burying his fingers to the knuckles inside her before withdrawing, again and again, and Gisele moaned louder with each stroke, brought closer and closer to the edge. She’d wrapped her arms about his neck, and her knees buckled, but Urianger was strong and braced her back with his other arm, and Gisele rolled her hips to shamelessly grind against his hand with abandon.

“Thy blissful cries are lovelier still than any song,” Urianger breathed, low and soft in her ear, nipping it with his teeth. “Pray, my sweet...I would hear thee sing.”

Gisele’s very flesh was aflame, scorching with the haze of desire; and then he crooked his fingers within her, beckoning from within, to caress the most sensitive inner flesh, and she cried out when at last her inner walls quivered about Urianger’s fingers, an explosive pleasure shooting up her spine, and she shuddered against him with quivering knees.

“Magnificent,” Urianger whispered softly, before brushing her lips once more with his own, parting them with a tongue soft and languorous.

Mayhap upon any other night, during any other such encounter, Gisele might have been sated—at least, for the time being. But in that moment, she buried her sweat-damp face against Urianger’s broad shoulder, the whole of her body palsied not by relief, but in heightened yearning. Of a surety, it was as if the fires within only burned that much brighter, so stoked by the deft skill of his hand, and Gisele clung tightly to him, pressing rather desperately against his still gone hand.

Urianger gently withdrew it, to her everlasting chagrin, and pulled away from her only enough to tilt her chin upward, that he might gaze upon her with a piercing, heavy-lidded stare. 

“Still...” he murmured. The corner of his mouth quirked a bit, his lips curving into a bit of a smirk. “Very well. T’would be the worst manner of deception indeed should I feign despondency for thy continued affliction, for it should mean I must continue my ministrations upon thee. And I would not play thee false in such dissembling. Hath I pleased thee well, thus far?”

“Did my cries not make it plain?” Gisele replied, giggling softly. “I have had a great many lovers in my time, and I would surely count you among the best, thus far. Your touch is exquisite. But, Uri… _ never _ have I felt this manner of hunger. Not even I, who have hungered so ravenously from the earliest flowering of womanhood, and seek pleasure without shame.”

Urianger leaned down, brushing his lips against her own, achingly soft and tender; his tongue pierced her mouth once more, for a long and rapturous moment, and Gisele rose up, pressing tightly against him, his cock warm and hard against her trembling body. 

“Then I shall bring all the skill of mine arts to bear this night, gentle lady,” he said, when he pulled up to breathe. “Both sorcerous, and mundane—the whole of this long eve, should it be needful.”

“Uri…” Gisele murmured, stroking his back, caressing his strong muscles, down to his beautiful, thickly muscled rear. “I wish it would, I must confess.”

And then Urianger took his pleasure soaked fingers, still coated with her slick, and slipped them one after the other into his mouth.

“Thou art...” he began, but rapturously closed his eyes, licking his fingers clean, one after the other, and the sight of his ravenous tongue savoring her pleasure was like to drive Gisele even madder than she was. “Ah...thou art exceedingly sweet upon my tongue. My lady, if thou wouldst but permit it, I would make of thy maidenhood an altar before which I wouldst offer the most fervent worship. Prithee, I would drink deep of thy nectar, as honey from the comb.” 

“Please,” Gisele whimpered, her swollen sex throbbing in time to her racing heartbeat at the very thought of it.

Urianger smiled, his eyes bright with lust, and curled the fingers of both hands upon the hem of her pantalettes, easing them down slowly over her wide hips, lowering down with them. As he ilmed downward at a glacial pace, he lowered to his knees before her as he pulled the thoroughly soaked silk down over her thick thighs, planting kisses down each of them; he gently nudged her a little, and she gingerly stepped out of them, bracing herself upon his shoulders for balance sake. 

Laid bare to the steaming air of the bath, Gisele ran her hands through Urianger’s silvery locks as he hungrily kissed her inner thighs, quivering with anticipation, but to her surprise, he rose to his feet, and took her by the hand to lead her at last to the steaming, fragrant water—still roiling, still awaiting them. With a chivalrous hand, he aided her up the short stair, and Gisele lowered down hence upon the topmost tier of the basin, within the shallowest part of the water, where it rose mere ilms against her thighs. She sprawled there, leaning back against the edge, while she eased her calves down into the water, the churning heat a welcome solace for muscles which still ached from the exertion of battle, even after soothing release. But Urianger instead descended deeper down the tiered steps beside her, sinking down into the water, and slithered up before her until he settled between her legs. Spreading her thighs wide, he gazed up at her, and his eyes of pale gold never left her even as he hooked his powerful arms beneath her legs and eased her down a little, that she half laid in the shallows, and raised her aching sex up out of them. With the gentlest of strokes, did he part her nether lips, caressing her folds with reverence, to reveal her swollen pearl once more, throbbing in anticipation, aching for his touch once more.

And then, Urianger buried his face between Gisele’s thighs.

Gisele gasped in delight when he drew his tongue across her clit in a lengthy, languid caress, moist and filled with sultry heat, pleasure blossoming at the base of her spine and coiling sinuously up her back once more. She leaned back against the heated marble, sprawling in hedonistic languor, and rested a hand upon his head to pet his silvery locks, as he made her the longest and most licentious of kisses, piercing her deep with his eager tongue, and licked her with firm strokes in a steady rhythm. And she braced her other hand hard upon the stone, to meet his quickening rhythm with one of her own, throwing back her head and moaning rapturously, rolling her wide hips to grind hard upon his tongue, her body aflame with need and shamelessly seeking it within his delicious mouth. He stopped only enough to briefly draw back for air, but quickly returned to his sensual ministrations, swirling his tongue about her clit, rolling against it as the gentle waves of the water about him. For a moment, Gisele chanced to glance down beneath the surface of the steaming water, and spied Urianger’s hand loosely gripped about his thick shaft, though it was still; and she would have given anything in that moment to grant him even an onze of the pleasure he gave so freely, her fevered mind alight with visions of sucking it deep, until he lost his famed composure.

“Uri,” she gasped, her breath short and hissing between her teeth, as tension built; his tongue quickened against her, with firmer strokes upon her throbbing clit so pulsing with swelling desire, and she ground harder against him, raising up out of the shallows to buck feverishly against his mouth. And then Urianger pressed his longest finger against her entrance, slipping within her hot inner core deep to the knuckle—but it was different than before. Gisele’s body tensed and her moaning raised an octave, at a tingling sensation within, his finger pulsing with energy against her inner walls as he stroked her. It was as though he caressed her with warm velvet—and then, too, did his tongue grow warmer against her, heating the golden bead which rubbed against her clit with every lick, now charged with blazing aether. And when Urianger at last crooked his finger once more within her, his lips suckling her hot and swollen pearl, the whole of Gisele’s body tensed and she made a wordless cry of ecstasy, her fingers gripping his hair tightly as a wave of pleasure washed over her for the second time that night, unraveling upon his mouth.

Urianger gently lapped at her glistening folds then, and Gisele shuddered a little, feeling altogether sensitive.

But only a little. Even then, she felt herself stirring once more, as he licked her clean, tingling against his tongue once more. When he was at last finished, he planted soft kisses upon each of her inner thighs by turns, before gazing up at her with a sensual smile. “Thou art sweeter than any honey I have tasted, my lady,” Urianger said, gently kneading her thighs. “How farest thee?”

Gisele closed her eyes, inhaling deep the scent of the sultry jasmine incense, mingled with the rose and lavender oils and the heady scent of her own pleasure. Of a surety, Urianger pleased her well—as well as she had ever been pleased, thus—but when she opened her eyes, lowering her gaze upon him, she felt the yearning rising within her once more. Her second climax merely dulled it, but still it burned in her blood, and still did her body trembled with it, though her thoughts seemed somewhat clearer.

“Better. I hunger, still, but…it does not intrude upon my mind. I feel…purged somewhat, but only somewhat,” Gisele replied. 

“Hmm…tis not solely pleasure required, then. I suspected as such,” Urianger muttered rather absently to himself, nodding imperceptibly, as though he had come to some manner of discovery.

Gisele tilted her head in curiosity at him. “Twas aether you invoked towards the end, was it not? I believe I sensed it.” She giggled softly, lowering her lashes rather coyly at him. “Though I sensed a great many things, then…”

Urianger’s laugh was deep and soft, warming her as much as his delightful mouth. “Thou art perceptive in the main, my lady, as always. I did but hypothesize, upon thy lord husband’s exposition, that conventional pleasures might not adequately suffice to heal thee. For the ardor which hath gripped thee so mercilessly tis of most  _ un _ -conventional origin.”

Gisele laughed rather wickedly, at that, and eased down deeper into the water, sinking beside him until her slender shoulders were submerged. “Tis altogether fortunate then, darling, that I’ve never been one for conventional pleasures,” she said impishly. 

Urianger chuckled, wrapping his arms about her. “So I hath ascertained. Lord Haurchefant was most instructive during our conference, and generously imparted upon me due counsel.” 

“Did he, now?” Gisele purred, raising a silvery brow at him. She smiled coyly, reaching down in the water between them to take his thick shaft within her hand, massaging his broad tip with an idle thumb.

“Indeed.” Urianger’s hands drifted down her back, gripping her plump bottom beneath the water—tightly, in a vice grip, and he froze when her hand slid down, cupping his sack once more, and lightly. “Ah, Gisele…have a care. I would not spend the coin of mine own pleasure so quickly, that I shouldst leave thee bereft. Thine own is paramount to the rite.”

“Oh, Uri…” Gisele sighed softly, as she idly stroked his cock. “Pleasure is principle, in such rites, and not merely for the subject. Did they not teach you this in Sharlayan? The Tevinter knew it well, in their forbidden tomes. The greater the pleasure, the greater the aether raised.”

Urianger’s lids grew heavy, and he licked his lips, as his breath grew heavier. “Yes, but…” His words trailed off as his breath hitched in his throat.

“Did Haurchefant tell you how I love to submit? How I gain pleasure in the service of my lovers?”

“He did.” 

Gisele leaned in closer. “Did he tell you how I crave to be upon my knees? And how very skilled I am?”

Urianger’s words were caught in his throat once more; he choked upon them, when she tightened her grip upon his shaft. And Gisele reached up with her free hand, pulling him down that she might part his lips with her tongue, devouring his mouth even as her hand twisted beneath the surface. When she pulled back up for air, she smiled at him.

“Sit, my darling. I’ll show you how a maid milks a bull. And we shall empower this rite properly.”

Urianger did not need to be told twice. He switched positions with her then, slinking around her to climb upon the seat, where the steaming water rose only to his sack. Gisele settled before him, resting her hands upon his surprisingly thick and chiseled thighs, stroking them as she gently spread them wide. Urianger leaned back against the stone, sprawling before her with his arms spread wide upon the marble rim of the tub, and in that moment resembled none so much to Gisele as one of the hedonistic princes in the many books of vice she’d consumed, rather than the staid and sober scholar. She smiled up at him, once more taking his cock with all its girth within her hand, wrapping her fingers about the stone-hard shaft, sliding her hand down to its base, then back again, stroking him with her skilled and practiced hand.

“Thy touch is like none other, sweet girl,” Urianger sighed with a low rumble of pleasure and a blissful smile. He met her eyes with a golden, half-lidded gaze naked with lust, his lips parted with the growing heaviness of his breath, and he had never been so beautiful to her as he was then. 

Gisele’s gaze never left his, even as she lowered her head to wrap her full and pouting lips around the head of his cock with her warm and pliant mouth to suckle his engorged tip, her hot tongue licking the smooth head until a seed pearl emerged from it, and she tasted salt. All the while, Urianger moaned delightfully, and drew a hand down to rest upon the crown of her silvery curls, guiding her head down as she suckled him, twisting her fisted hand up and down the considerable length of his hot shaft. The other hand, she drew beneath him, cupping his sack within her palm, tenderly massaging it with her slender fingers. 

“Yes, my sweet...” Urianger moaned softly. “Like that...ah, thy mouth is glorious...”

And then she devoured him, inhaling deep as she engulfed his cock with the entirety of her mouth. 

By the Fury, were the sounds that escaped his groaning mouth delicious, Gisele thought, coaxing forth that ravenous, nigh bottomless hunger from deep within her once more. With her suckling lips did she steal every measure of eloquence from Urianger’s tongue with her own, reducing him to incoherent moans, sucking him down deeper and deeper, to the very back of her throat, humming softly all the while. She felt his trembling fingers tighten upon her curls, and he grunted low, his hips rising up off the stone of their own accord, so lost was he to his own pleasure, and he met the rhythm of her sucking with sharp thrusts, til he was fucking her throat as much as she was sucking him down into it. 

“Gisele!” Urianger hissed between clenched teeth, and he tore her mouth from his cock, roughly snatching her head back by a fist full of silvery curls. “I abjure thee, I would surely spend myself down thy throat shouldst thou continue.”

A pleasant shudder sent down her spine at the thought of it, and Gisele licked her lips, tasting salt and sweat upon her tongue. “More’s the pity,” she murmured. 

“Indeed,” Urianger chuckled, soft and wicked, petting her damp curls. “For thy mastery of tongues be not confined to the Echo, it would seem. But we’ve a purpose, in these pleasures, and I would not lose it. Pray, my lady...hast thou a sheath, hence? Mine own rests presently within mine pouch, yonder.”

Gisele smiled. “Uri...I do not doubt as such, and do not think me ungrateful for your concern. But these rites are most successful when there is naught between the celebrants but willing flesh. And you should know that I am, above all else, rather cautious despite my appetites—nay, mayhap  _ because _ of them. Even should we lack a sheath, am I still protected by arts sorcerous and mundane. You needn’t worry.”

Urianger nodded slowly. “Very well; I shalt place the whole of mine trust in thee, and thy providence.” He eased down onto the next tier, sinking deeper into the water, and beckoned to her with a went hand. “Come to me, my Gisele...” he said. “Rest thyself and luxuriate upon me.”

Gisele did so, rather like a queen taking her rightful place upon her throne, turning her back to him, to sit upon his lap within the still steaming water. It was her turn to sprawl, then, leaning back against his warm and taut chest, inhaling deeply the rich floral scents, mingled with his own.

“Do you want me, Uri?” she asked sweetly, rather shamelessly rubbing her thick bottom against his muscled thighs.

“As I hath wanted naught else,” he breathed in reply. Urianger’s hand slid across her generous curves, rising up from beneath the surface of the water up her taut belly to heft her bosom, squeezing it to elicit from her lips a soft moan. 

“Fuck me,” Gisele pleaded, grinding her thick ass down against his cock.

“I shall,” Urianger purred. “With intent.”

Down below the surface of the water, he reached for his thick shaft once more with his other hand, guiding the smooth, blunt tip to part her folds, pressing gently against her entrance, teasing it rather mercilessly. “Unfurl the flower of thy maidenhood unto me, my sweet girl,” he purred, low and hot into her ear, “that I might pour with vigor my love within thee, and thou wilt know peace.”

It was more than merely the seductive poetry of an amorous lover that Urianger spoke, scintillating to Gisele as it was; there was power in them, and it fair crackled against her skin. Lakshmi’s ardor, all consuming though it was, had not entirely dulled her preternatural senses, and heat fair poured off his body in waves, enveloping her in a searing warmth.

And when Urianger pierced her through at long, glorious last, sheathing his cock within her deep to the very hilt, Gisele gasped with a soft cry, and sighed in hedonistic content, wantonly replete with him. Of a surety, she was blessed to know any number of well-endowed men as lovers, and she would have measured Urianger against any of them. But it was more than the content of being so full that washed over Gisele then, as her body indeed opened as a flower to him, taking all that he was; it was that incalculable warmth which filled her as much as the whole of his enormous cock, and she felt it coaxing the ardor forth as if by siren song. It answered the call with all its power, pleasure bloomed once more at the root of her body, blazing with renewed intensity to coil slithering up her spine like a serpent upon a branch.

All this, and he had not even moved.

Then, he did, slowly at first, his strokes deliberate and hard, and each time he thrust, that selfsame pleasure splayed across her spine. Gisele surrendered to it at last, sinking deeper into it, even as Urianger sank deeper inside her, his hips rolling upward, smacking his thighs hard against the back of her own. He leaned back with her, sliding his hand down her inner thigh, the tips of his fingers digging into her supple flesh to grip it tightly, as he jerked up into her in a hard and languid rhythm. His other hand he drew up the lean muscles of her abdomen, squeezing the ample fullness of her breast again, and brought his fingers up to tease the golden hoop which pierced her large, dark nipple, flicking it playfully with his fingertips before pinching her hard between thumb and forefinger even as he thrust within her, sending a sharp wave of tingling pleasure through her body. But when the hand which gripped her inner thigh drifted down to find her swollen clit once more, and the little hoop which pierced her hood, Gisele gasped in sensuous delight as he toyed with the metal for but a moment before pressing down upon the tiny orb, pressing it against the slick nub with firm little strokes. 

Of a surety, did Urianger steal the very air from her lungs, with each powerful surge of his enormous cock to fill her, each licentious caress of his skilled fingers. Gisele gasped in a staccato rhythm to match his own, helpless and lost in his warmth and preternatural ardor by turns, and with wanton hunger ground down upon his cock to match his quickening strokes, rubbing her clit against his deft fingers, the steaming water roiling against her skin naught compared to the pleasure which roiled within her, loosed and unfettered at last, a rosy haze settling upon her vision once more. For a blissful age did she give herself over to these tandem pleasures, the whole of her voluptuous body writhing upon Urianger’s lap, taking all that he gave so freely, her gasping breaths grown more ragged by the thrust.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Urianger moaned within her pointed ear, before ravenously suckling her prone neck, nipping her sweat-soaked skin with his teeth, his fingers furiously stroking her clit in time to the thrusting of his cock. “Give thyself unto me,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his elegant words sharp and breathed in hitched gasps.

Her keening cries grew longer and more urgent, and he increased his pace yet again, his strong hands as an absolute vice upon her, rubbing her, pinching her, pounding her all at once, his own breath hot and ragged against her neck as he fucked her mercilessly. And there was no sense of where each of their sweltering, trembling bodies began and ended, entwined in flesh and burning aether, within and without, pleasure cresting as the the churning waves roiling against them, stirring and stirring to a crescendo.

At last, Gisele’s body stiffened, her back lurching off Urianger’s chest in a graceful arch, and blinding light burst before her shuttered lids in a shower of bright and dazzling stars, as incandescent heat burst at the base of her spine even as she felt a searing torrent shoot up inside her with a surge of explosive aether. And the light before her eyes pierced the haze of her vision as she cried out in harmony with Urianger, the whole of their bodies shuddering against one another in the force of their shared climax. 

When she opened her eyes, her vision was clear once more, the rosy haze dissipated. Languor seeped into her limbs, and the only heat dancing along her skin then was that of the water, and Urianger, silent and basking in it. She sunk back against him, and he idly drifted his hands across her body, slowly and with hushed reverence, not to arouse, merely to touch her soft and glowing skin before encircling her waist with his strong arms. The ravenous, all consuming hunger within her seemed sated at last, for she felt naught but the most satisfying of aches within, her body wrung limp.

With his assistance, Gisele shifted upon his lap, turning to straddle him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to bury her face in his silvery hair. He held her then, in a wordless, tender embrace, breathing softly against her skin. For a long while did they sit in stillness within the waters, basking in the simple intimacy of each other’s warmth as they held one another in gentle serenity. And Gisele clung to him, Urianger’s cheek resting in the long, elegant line of her neck, his breath soft against her skin.

It was Urianger who gently nudged her up, at last, but she only pulled away enough to gaze down upon him. And Gisele saw him— _ truly _ saw him, and what seemed to her for the first time. Sweat glistened upon his skin, only lightly tanned from the punishing desert sun from which he kept well hidden, but it was flushed from exertion, and fair glowing in the candlelight of the bathing chamber. And if there had been any doubt of the singular purity of his intentions that night, it was erased when her eyes met his own, pale and golden and shining with wonder and affection by turns.

“I hath lived a dream this night, my lady,” Urianger said softly.

Gisele reached down to trace the flowing oxblood lines of the Archon’s marque, before cupping his cheek within her palm; when she did, his lashes—so long and thick—fluttered imperceptibly. “So have we both, love,” she said, stroking the tall height of his fine cheekbone with soft fingertips.

“Thou art healed of thine affliction, in the main?” Urianger asked, searching and searching with an intent gaze, silvery brows furrowed only a little.

Gisele’s lips curved into a bright smile. “I am, indeed. So often have I given freely such healing to my lovers, tis passing strange to receive it for once. And wonderful. You were magnificent, Uri.”

“Full glad am I to hear it,” Urianger said, stroking her back. “Thou hast truly never enjoyed such succor, with all thy many paramours?”

Gisele gently shook her head. “I have instructed Haurchefant to harness the Light which suffuses him, to make a blessing of Ser Zephirin’s curse, and he is skilled with his modest gifts of healing. But this…this is somewhat different, as yet beyond his ken, I think. And I have never taken another healer as a lover, until this night.”

Urianger pulled her back into a tight embrace, resting a wet hand upon her disheveled bun. “Tis an irony most cruel, that so generous and skilled a healer as thee would know naught of a healer’s embrace. But full glad am I, and humbled most sincerely, that I might give such a gift unto thee.”

“As am I. Thank you.” She planted a soft kiss upon his pointed ear and pulled away a little again, but winced, holding up her thoroughly withered hand, and sighed. “Ah, Uri. It seems we are well and truly a pair of healing prunes, now. Pleasant as this is, mayhap we should make our exit.”

Urianger laughed softly, snatching up her hand to playfully kiss it, but he nodded. “Indeed, my lady.”

It was admittedly with some difficult that Gisele finally extricated herself from Urianger’s lap, groping for the stone rim of the tub for support, but he offered her his aid, and together they stepped up and out of the tub, drifting back to the small loveseat in the nook. It was he who fetched a pair of thick towels, woven of soft karakul fleece, and first saw to Gisele, drying her off with his characteristic gentleness. Such love was in his touch, always, and her heart grew that much warmer at the care with which he treated her. When she was mostly dry, he wrapped it around her, and saw to his own.

But Gisele found herself swooning a bit upon her feet as she watched him, and quickly sat down; Urianger raised her a questioning eyebrow a moment, but smiled then, and bent down low to scoop her up into his arms. Gisele giggled, and he never stopped smiling, even as he carried her out of the bathing chamber, crossing the length of her bedchamber, to gently deposit her towel and all upon sheets of fine linen. He planted a gentle kiss upon her brow then, and Gisele made space for him within the bed, but he had already turned from her, returning to the bath to gather up his discarded robe and belt with its myriad pouches.

“Uri?”

Urianger hesitated before the door, arms full of his clothing. “I…thou art as yet hale, and I should leave thee to gentle rest.”

“Is that truly what you wish?”

He glanced away from her, lowering his gaze. “Of a surety hath thine ardor passed. Thou hast as yet no further need of mine presence, and such phenomena should of a certainty be documented—”

“That is not an answer, messire Augurelt. I thought you had finished with your dissembling, when the Warriors of Darkness departed this star,” Gisele said.

Urianger’s eyes grew wide. “I did not play thee false, my lady, when I said as much.”

“Then why do you hesitate? Do you truly wish to pass this night alone, after what we have shared?”

Urianger stared at her a long while, and for once, his turmoil was writ large upon his elegantly sculpted features, his eyes clamping shut as he took a deep and uncharacteristically halting breath. “Twas somewhat more than the concern of a comrade, and a healer, which led me here. I did not play thee false when I spoke of that, either. And what we shared this night, I shalt treasure always, for much more than a sorcerer’s curiosity.”

“As shall I. And I needed no ardor to yearn for you.”

Urianger was silent a long moment. “I hath done naught to deserve thy tender entreaties.”

“And what if I said that you did? Do you trust me, and my judgment?”

“Verily, my lady.”

“Then stay with me.” 

Gisele held out her arms, wide and beckoning, with a gentle smile.

“Dost thou wish it of me, in truth?” Urianger asked.

“With all my heart.”

The tension left Urianger’s furrowed brow as he relaxed it, and returned her smile. “Then I shall.”

He left the bundle of his robes and gear in a neatly folded pile at the door, placing them upon the small side table, before crossing the distance to her bed, climbing into it—and into her awaiting arms, clinging to her tightly, sinking down with her into the crisp sheets, lowering his mouth upon her own once more, and Gisele parted his lips with her tongue, keening softly against them, as she clung tightly to him in return. 

With Lakshmi’s ardor faded at last, it was the simplest and purest of yearning which guided her; her heart, and her heart alone, beating slow and tender for Urianger, who returned it with all he was. He slipped his tongue between her generous lips, and she savored the taste of her pleasures upon it, as he slid his arms beneath her and held her tightly against him, his breath hot and heavy within her mouth. Gisele felt him stir beneath her, as he caught her thick lower lip in his teeth, and gently suckled his way down her throat. 

No preternatural affliction drove them, thus, nor ravenous passion, as they rocked against one another; no desperate need for release, only touch.

Only love, the most glorious of worldly delights.


End file.
